𝐀 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄𝐒 | h. potter

15 | Retribution

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: RETRIBUTION

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Two weeks later, many things had happened.

Hermione finally de-furred, losing her feline appearance completely, and posters for the upcoming Duelling Club had been put up. Maya had sat through an excruciating re-telling of her experience with the Basilisk to Hermione and Ron, who looked positively terrified that something bloodthirsty existed in the castle walls.

Or, Maya mused that night, maybe they were horrified at watching Maya and Harry converse in Parseltongue, with Harry translating.

Ron looked half-torn between vomiting into the fireplace and breaking down every brick until he found the reptile, ready to hex and curse the thing to pieces for attacking Ginny. He had also properly apologised to Maya for reacting the way he had before.

Maybe they wouldn't have found it so terrifying if it was just Harry, she thought sourly. After all it makes sense that anything Riddle's daughter had, had to be an evil trait, right?

Hermione had wondered aloud why Maya could only reveal the truth in Parseltongue. "There has to be a price," she said, finger resting on her chin. "Think about it; it's painful when you try to tell us in any other way, but as soon as you utilise your abilities as a Parselmouth suddenly the pain stops."

Harry agreed, "There has to be some kind of catch."

Ron paled suddenly as a thought struck him. "You don't think — you don't think the Basilisk can hear you right now, could it?" Hermione frowned. It seemed very plausible.

Maya shook her head. "I don't think so. We would probably hear it if it had started hissing on reflex wherever it is now, but we can't so I doubt it works the other way." She leaned back into the couch tiredly; talking in Parseltongue always drained her so much. The black thing around her heart seemed to like it a lot as it squirmed happily beneath her skin. "I don't care about the consequences. I'd take them over feeling the pain any day."

***

Sometimes, Maya would hear voices.

They were never louder than a whisper, and one was always different to the voice of the black thing wrapped so tightly around her heart. The voice of the black thing was her own, only crueler, and wrong. The other she only heard in her nightmares.

Maya knew this voice belonged to the boy she caught glimpses of in her mirror. The same boy who would tell her in a voice made of jagged honey that she should just let go.

"What are you holding back for?" He would say, pale face shrouded in darkness save for the awful grin on his lips. "These people who whisper your name with hatred, who have committed injustice towards you despite not knowing the power you wield, don't deserve your kindness. It is cruel to hide your teeth under a mask, for when you bite them they will still bleed. You can make them pay. You can make them suffer what you have suffered."

"It's wrong," she whispered, heart thundering, palms sweaty. She clenched her fists tightly, so the sharp pain of her nails digging into her flesh broke through the hazy cloud of — of whatever was making her want to give in. "Just because they—"